


Lemonade

by Keolah



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Cats, Cooking, Fishing, Gen, Humor, Islands, Literal Lemons, No Dialogue, Silly, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-21
Updated: 2009-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Keolah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A troll is shipwrecked alone on a remote island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lemonade

The palm trees swayed in the placid sea breezes, and Ab'jor was miserable. This was the last place in the world he wanted to be. He kicked a seashell aside as he strode down the sun-drenched sandy beach. So alone, and so far from home, how had he wound up in this situation?

He considered sifting through the remains of the shipwreck again to give himself something to do, but he'd already done that several times. There wasn't anything left to take. All the food stores had been moved to the cave he used to stash things, and all the valuables were utterly useless here. What did he care if he had a pirate's booty of gold and gems, if there wasn't anyone else around to spend them with? He might be the richest troll in the world, but that didn't help him get off this island.

It had all been a miscalculation on the part of that blasted goblin navigator in the midst of a storm. And to make matters worse, some of the goblins had claimed to have seen mermaids, before the fateful crash. Mermaids? They'd probably just seen naga. Ab'jor was convinced that they had all merely been drunk off the pilfered booze in their hold, most of which wound up broken and spilled across the shoals.

He had enough food and water to last him a while longer, at least, but he was going to need to find more if he expected to survive in the long term here. What a nightmare. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life on this miserable island. What were the chances of someone actually coming out here and rescuing him?

Best to make the best of it he could, though. He was alive, after all, and that was what mattered. With salvaged cloth and rope from the shipwreck, he made a hammock and strung it up inside his cave, between two pillars of rock. For fear of island predators, he gathered up some of the timbers and fortified the entrance somewhat, building a makeshift wall with a door. He didn't think that would keep out any determined island tigers if they really wanted to get in, but at least it might give him some warning before being eaten in his sleep or something.

The rats were a definite problem, however. He was having difficulty keeping them out of his food stores. While some of the crates and barrels were still sealed tight enough, some of them ones which hadn't been in as good of condition had been ruined by the pests. He was going to need to find food soon.

Ab'jor scouted about the island, foraging for fruits and nuts as he could. He had no idea which of these might be edible, or if any of them were poisonous, but he didn't care to starve to death. He also tried his hand at fishing after finding an intact fishing pole aboard the wreck, as well as a net.

The first fish he caught was a tiny thing, pathetic really, but even though it was hardly a morsel, he didn't have the heart to throw it back as he might wind up eating it anyway. With a sigh, he went back to fishing. It would have been much more entertaining to fish if he were back at home, fishing out on the lake, trying to avoid work and wife. She was the smart one, to not want to go anywhere near the ocean. But no, he had had to go along on this hairbrained adventure chasing after lost pirate treasure. And now look where it all had gotten him.

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and glanced aside quickly. Right next to him, as if it owned the entire island, was a cat, blithely munching on the small fish he had caught. At first glance, he might have thought it to be a tabby, but then he thought it looked a bit like a miniature tiger, despite being no larger than a housecat. Was this the mythical island tiger he'd heard was so dangerous? He had a hard time being scared of it.

Annoyed, he tried to scare the cat away from his lunch, waving his arms and shouting at it. Undeterred, the cat just looked up at him and cocked its head. Ab'jor sighed in frustration and sat down again, shaking his head and resuming fishing. The little fish hadn't been much of a meal anyway. Maybe the cat could help take care of his rat problem instead. The way things were going, he thought he'd have to take care of his rat problem by eating rat stew. And very possibly cat stew, too. He didn't think that either of them sounded particularly appetizing, however.

Luckily, however, after moving out a bit further onto the sandbar the ship had run aground on, he managed to catch a decent-sized fish. A lovely spotted yellowtail. That would make for a fine lunch, and dinner too for that matter. Still being eyed by the cat, he carefully cleaned the fish and took it back to his cave. Pots and pans, plates and silverware! He felt like a fool eating with fine porcelain and silver forks. He could only wish that it were easier to get a fire started out here. His flint and steel would have to do, though. Oh, for a nice barbecue. This fish would be positively delicious when nicely grilled, and then sprinkled in lemon juice and dipped in tartar sauce.

Come to think, he thought he had seen trees resembling citrus trees a little ways inland earlier. That would be excellent. He prepared to leave, then glanced at the cat, who was still clearly waiting for him to leave the fish unguarded. Right, he'd best take that with him as well. Grabbing a bucket from his salvaged supplies and dropping the yellowtail into it, he headed out of his makeshift home.

A short ways away from the cave, he came upon the trees again. There, up in the branches, he could swear they looked like lemons! They were awfully high up, though. He didn't have anything to try to knock them down with, so he'd have to climb. Glaring at the cat, he looped the bucket's handle over his arm, and began to climb. Up and up, almost in reach, with that damned cat staring at him intently the entire time from the base of the tree.

Ab'jor reached out and barely grabbed one of the lemons, but slipped and dropped it, narrowly avoiding falling himself. He couldn't see where it had fallen, so he shimmied out a little further onto the limb and pulled free a few more lemons and dropped them into his bucket.

Then the limb made an ominous crack just before snapping entirely. Ab'jor cried out as he went crashing to the ground. He blinked and rubbed himself, checking to see if anything was broken, but he didn't appear to be seriously hurt. He could swear the cat was laughing at him, however. Fine then, no harm no foul, though he was sure the tree disagreed. Gathering up his bucket of fish and lemons, he headed back toward his cave again.

Ab'jor gathered up some wood in front of the cave, along with some sticks and leaves for kindling, and pulled out his flint and steel to light them. The little flame refused to ignite them, however. Drat, were they too moist? He kicked away the damp wood and went to carefully gather up some that was dry enough to light, bucket still over his arm. He wasn't about to let that damned cat anywhere near his fish.

This time he was sure the fire would light. He flicked his flint and steel at the kindling, and it sputtered and sparked for a moment, but didn't set anything on fire. Oh, hell, was it going out already? He flicked it a few more times in hopes of something igniting, and one spark finally caught. Relieved, Ab'jor carefully nurtured the tiny flame until it grew into a real campfire. Success!

Shooing the tiny tiger away from his fish again, Ab'jor pulled out his makeshift grill and got to cooking. He was already practically drooling over the thought of the meal to come. The cat was looking at him oddly, as if wondering just why he was doing this to a perfectly good fish. Chuckling to himself and rubbing his hands together, he gleefully cooked the spotted yellowtail to perfection, then transfered it to a plate. He sliced open a lemon and drizzled juice on it, and prepared to dig in.

Behind him, his hastily constructed shelter chose that moment to collapse on top of him. He swore enough to make a goblin flinch, and pulled himself out from under it. Where was his fish? He cast about trying to locate it again under the mess. But then he spotted the cat a ways off, carrying it off in its mouth. Cursing vehemently, he chased off after the pernicious feline, but quickly lost it in the undergrowth. He felt like crying.

Ab'jor trudged back to his camp and discovered that in his absence, his shelter had caught fire. Frantically, he tried to put the fire out, and at least managed to rescue his bucket of lemons if nothing else. By the time he got the fire out, his shelter was looking even more patchwork than it had been before. Ab'jor sighed as he looked over what was left.

Life had given him lemons, and he didn't even have any sugar for the lemonade.


End file.
